I dont know if I can write anymore. How can I pour out my soul if the door isn't open. This is gonna kill me. I long to see the field where everything is just still. Four. core. more. This rhyme scheme means nothing to me. No matter how much I write I still feel empty. You might need to cut me to see if I still bleed and bleed and bleed.
This is hell.
Well farewell. There a time to die and a time to rebel. The things that dwell in the dark are taking an L. I'm ok. These are just the words I say to get me to ok. Okay? Good. If you misunderstood then you really don't get poetry, but I'm in no hurry. Scurry before your vision gets blurry and you worry your passengers.